"No, that was your fault," - or - How To Behave. Part I.

I. General Behavior Around Vehicles Known as Taxicabs in the City of San Francisco

Don’t walk in traffic. It’s bad for you and bad for everyone else that is behind the wheel of the vehicles that comprise “the traffic”. Among these are taxis, and, as a taxi driver, it’s hard enough dealing with the crying woman who just broke up with her boyfriend in the back of your cab ten minutes earlier without you deciding that your need of a sandwich at David’s Deli across the street from the Clift necessitates walking blindly in front of large pieces of moving steel on Geary. The poor form of the couple will be treated later. And you’ll get your sandwich eventually. To get it safely wait until you see the green light in the shape of a walking person across the street in the direction you want to go. This gives you permission to cross. The big red hand gives you permission to stay where you are.

It follows logically that it is not a good idea to stand in traffic. This includes the shoulder of the road at the corner of Broadway and Columbus, Mr. Businessman. It’s not really a shoulder. It’s a turn lane. And try to brush it off when the taxi accelerates and strafes you at 40 miles per hour. It is retaliation for your idiocy, and you’re not going to win. My cab weighs more than your Armani suit.

While driving your own car, do not cut off taxicabs. They are working. You are trying to get to Larkin and Sutter to pick up a tranny hooker before the Tuesday night vice sweep pulls all the mangina you crave off the street. Relax. Diva’s is open until two. But it’s Monday night and the cabbie you just cut off only has one hour of good business before SF turns into a ghost town. If you really piss the cabbie off, good luck. Chances are that he has more friends driving around and is better armed than you. Relax. Stay safe.

II. How to Flag a Taxi

When you’re done with a night of drunken jaywalking and you want to take a taxi home, most often you will flag the cab – putting your arm up in the air to signify that you would like a ride – to get it to stop for you. Certain techniques improve your chances of getting a cab. For our purposes, it may be best to begin by citing examples of flagging techniques that do not work.

A. You are from the Marina. After a long night of drinking at a new, swanky establishment at 21^st and Mission, you want a cab. It is Friday and a lot of people are out. The first six taxis that drive by you are full. You try to make them stop for you, anyway. They don’t and you get upset. Eventually, you see a vacant cab approaching. You stumble into the street, waving both hands above your head and scream, “Hey! Stop! Asshole!” The cab drives past you.

B. You are in the Castro. After being dumped by your boyfriend, you decide to tie one on. One drink turns into twelve. Later, at the corner of Noe and Market, you’re resting your head against a telephone pole. Your right hand steadies you against the pole as you vomit. With your left hand, you flag a cab. The cab drives past you.

C. You are walking through the Tenderloin with a ski mask on, you are carrying a television, or you are in the process of smoking crack.

D. You are at the corner of Hayes and Octavia. You just went out to a nice dinner with someone and now you want a taxi. You aggressively make eye contact with the first cabbie you see and throw your hand straight up into the air. You also just kinda look like a jerk. It’s a busy night and if the cab driver drove another block he could probably find another fare. And if he drove another block, he wouldn’t have to listen to you talk for ten minutes about whatever jerks talk about. You are probably from the Marina. The cab drives past you.

Flagging a cab isn’t exactly an art, but some people are better at it than others. The best flag I ever saw was on Geary above Taylor. A woman stepped out into the street – but not too far into the street where she would be interfering with traffic – and put her arm up straight at a 45 degree angle while making eye contact with me like I was a certain totalitarian dictator from the mid-20^th-century. She had poise. She didn’t say a word, she didn’t whistle, and she didn’t yell. I stopped and when she got in I asked, “Where’d you learn to flag a cab like that.” She replied quickly and plainly, “I’m from New York.”

A Few Words

It would be better if you read this and imagined music suitable for an intermission or an elevator playing in the background. It's been a while since I've posted and there are reasons for this. The primary one is that driving a cab makes you go crazy. The job is an alienating one. When you get behind the wheel of a taxi, you become a peripheral character in everyone else's life. As you drive around hundreds of drunken business people obsessed with finance and status you start to lose grip on your own identity. Some drivers make up for it by becoming lunatic caricatures of taxi drivers, babbling about leftist politics while trying to emulate Mario Andretti through rush hour traffic. I started shutting down. My emotions ranged from blank to angry.

Then, I took a vacation. I drove to Portland, Seattle, then down to San Diego a few weeks later. I didn't work for a month. When I got back, I was more at peace with the gig. Luke Powell said that this happens to everyone: you either burn out in a year and quit or get over it and learn how to deal with the job. I am learning. And this shit is still too interesting to pass up.

So, don't go away. I'll be back in a few days with a full column about crime, drunken sailors, or sex. Probably sex.